


Family Ties

by Avaaricious



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28360284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avaaricious/pseuds/Avaaricious
Summary: In the wake of the Triskellion disaster, Steve needs a reprieve from the scrutiny of the government. He heads to Brooklyn to recharge, and also meet up with Becca Proctor (nee Barnes).He doesn't expect what he finds.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 58
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I recently refound a fic idea I'd typed into a blank document for some future date to perhaps work on, if I got the motivation to. On Christmas eve, it happened :D 
> 
> I'm unsure of how many parts this fic might go for at the moment, but potentially 3 or 4. Also it's not finished yet, but I'm steadily writing and Sarah's being a badass and betaing. 
> 
> I've hated how long it's taken me to get parts of ftf out, this is a direct 'fuck you' to that, and proving to myself I can get a story out in a shorter amount of time when inspiration strikes :D 
> 
> Two huge, massive thankyous to Justine and Sarah; I showed Justine the prompt on Xmas eve and we started discussing. I got heaps and heaps of ideas while talking to her, and mapped out 2/3 of the story. THEN I got to Sarah, who got me to nail down the last third, as well as betaing a good chunk of it for me, too. What a friggin legend. Love you both!
> 
> You know I'd love to hear from you if you enjoy this. Thanks, stucky fans <3 
> 
> Please note that I'll update the tags with relevant information as I go!

Somehow Brooklyn always smelled the same. 

Steve wasn't sure how, seeing as the city, its residents and ... _everything_ had changed over the years. And yet, it always smelled a little like car exhaust, rotting food and rain on a hot pavement. It was as comforting as it was slightly disgusting. 

And it would always be home to Steve. 

Following Hydra's betrayal and the fall of SHIELD, Steve couldn't leave Natasha to face the music on Capitol Hill alone. As much as he wanted to get out of there full time, look for Bucky and burn Hydra to the ground, his conscience wouldn't let him. 

But it had been months of railroading politicians and other letter agencies. He hadn't had a fully twenty-four hours to himself since leaving the hospital, and that was over three months ago. Sam helped mentally and emotionally when his edges got frazzled, but a quick pep-talk or a few hours reprieve couldn't replace physical distance away from his situation. He just needed a _break_. 

Leaving Sam as back-up for Nat, Steve stole away one Thursday night, riding his motorcycle north-east in the dark, heading straight for the Tower. He arrived around four a.m., with Jarvis letting him in without triggering security or waking anyone else up. 

Steve made his way to the spare room he usually occupied when in Manhattan and passed out for a few hours. When he awoke, it was with a sense of excitement to be away from the shitstorm in DC, if only temporarily. 

Tony was in France doing... something, and Pepper had flown out to California earlier in the week, so there was nobody to hold him up at the Tower. As ungrateful as it sounded, Steve was glad. He just wanted somewhere to crash overnight, and not feel obligated to spend time in Manhattan. He'd come here to visit _Brooklyn._

There was always traffic in New York City, none moreso than at rush hour. Steve waited until after ten a.m. to try and avoid the worst of it before he set off. Working his bike through the lanes made it easier to navigate, as well. 

A little past eleven a.m., he was pulling up into Crown Heights at the little Air BnB he'd booked before leaving Dupont Circle. It wasn't fancy, but it was close to where he and Bucky used to live, and he felt like he needed that connection. 

The owners ushered him in and showed him around, they clearly recognised him, but with the amount of celebrities that apparently called Brooklyn home now, Steve could tell they were used to playing it nonchalant. When they offered hints and tips about the area, Steve thanked them kindly, but assured them he knew his way around. 

As a matter of fact, the first thing he did was take a walk to the first independent coffee shop he could find for a tall Americano to sip while he strolled. 

His next stop took him to the building he and his mom grew up in. It had been gutted long ago to make way for new apartments, but the facade was still there. The next street over was where the Barnes family used to live. It had completely changed, and looked like it had been demolished and rebuilt from the ground up into an organic food store on the lower level, and a small firm specialising in family law on the upper. 

It was all very bittersweet, but Steve pushed through the melancholy to marvel at his city's ability to keep moving. If he didn't, he'd sink into the mire of depression that had dogged his first weeks out of the ice, and he wasn't looking to revisit that. 

There were still bright spots to be found, however. 

When he ran his hand across the outside wall of an old flower shop, the crumbly, texture with its imperfections and rough patches felt perfect. And there was still music in amongst the buildings... the styles may have changed, but catching notes floating on the breeze at each street corner filled him with quiet calm.

But the brightest spot of all was that Rebecca Proctor (nee Barnes) still -- _still_ \-- lived in the area and was going strong, despite her grand old age of eighty-six. 

Steve had visited her a number of times since returning, though not since the events of DC. While her recollection of certain things wasn't as sharp as it used to be, she still had Steve's number as soon as she looked at him. It was refreshing and wonderful.

It didn't stop hurting that he was with Bucky's baby sister when Bucky couldn't be. At the time it was because Bucky was dead. 'Dead' like Steve was 'dead', apparently. But this was one of the reasons to visit Brooklyn again, he needed to talk to her about Bucky, and hope she didn't hate him for taking months to bring her the information. 

His wanderings brought him to another familiar sight -- as well as a host of familiar smells. _Klionsky's Kosher Delicatessen and Restaurant_ still stood proudly, now wedged between a bookstore-slash-cafe and a vintage clothing shop.

Steve recalled visiting _Klionsky's_ with Bucky most Thursdays when they were growing up, to pick up a slab of brisket that Mrs Barnes could season and then cook and have ready for Friday night shabbos dinner. 

When Steve was sick, Winifred sent Bucky out to _Klionsky's_ for matzoh ball soup, which was the only thing his treacherous stomach could keep down. Mr and Mrs Klionsky were so lovely, and knowing Steve's health to be so poor, gave Bucky a tureen of it for nothing. It was a small kindness that meant a lot during the Depression, particularly as Steve's mother had already passed. 

Thinking of the soup and brisket and pastrami on rye got Steve's stomach rumbling incessantly. He decided to table any further exploring until after he got some lunch. 

The outside of _Klionsky's_ was just as he remembered; blue writing on a white facade, cramped lettering proclaiming it to be a NYC institution since 1898. Steve was struck by such a sense of homecoming as he approached the shop. He couldn't help a chuckle at their tagline on the side of their entrance; _We make good food for nice people._

Steve ducked under the doorframe and entered, and his olfactory senses briefly went into overdrive. He was only overcome for a moment, before he was able to scan the interior and take stock. There had been changes inside, of course, but the majority of the deli was as Steve remembered. Different curtains and chairs, same tiling on the floor and sturdy booths. 

Steve walked to the counter, casting the most cursory look over the menu. It was doing steady business inside, but the majority of their customers were take-away. That suited him just fine, because he wanted to sit at one of the tables and really sink into the atmosphere for a little while. 

There was a middle-aged man at the counter who only took a few moments to recognise Steve. Far from change his attitude or mannerisms, the man -- with a tag that read 'Adam' -- merely smiled at him as the order was rung through. 

"You used to visit when my grandparents ran this place," Adam said, his voice mellow enough that it didn't carry too far. 

"I did," Steve said, recalling a lovely little old couple that always ruffled Bucky's hair and gave them both an extra dill pickle right out of the jar -- one for Bucky for being a good Jewish boy, the other to Steve for being a good _shabbos goy_. "They gave me matzoh ball soup that kept me alive in '38 when I was sick."

Adam smiled. "Sounds like my bubbe and zayde. Well, the recipe hasn't changed since they were making it. We make most of the menu items exactly like they showed my dad, then me."

"That's good to know," Steve said with a warm smile. He ordered one each of the hot pastrami and corned beef sandwiches, and because he couldn't get the thought out of his mind, the dill pickle. Adam gestured to an empty booth and said he'd bring the sandwiches out. 

Steve slid into the booth chair and crunched absently on the pickle, enjoying the atmosphere, the goodnatured banter between Adam and the kitchen, and the smells of delicious food. The brine taste on his tongue was sharp and familiar. He could see himself and Bucky in his mind's eye walking down the street back to their homes; the brisket wrapped in paper and tucked under Bucky's arm, both munching on the pickles.

So lost in thought, Adam's return startled him. The sandwiches looked and smelled as good as he remembered, but he was reluctant to ditch the pickle just yet. 

He ultimately put it on the edge of his plate, staring wistfully at it. 

"Don't worry, I love them, too," Adam said, understanding. 

"It's more they brought up some memories," Steve admitted quietly. He briefly made eye contact with Adam before staring back at his plate. "Your bubbe used to give Bucky and I a pickle when he came in to collect meat for shabbos." 

Adam nodded along. "That doesn't surprise me... the Barneses have been customers for years, and bubbe in particular was a soft-touch for the family." He sighed, but there was a smile on his face. "Apparently it's a trait contracted via marriage, my wife is now the soft-touch." 

Steve put everything together in his head. "You still get Barnes visitors?" he queried, cocking a brow. 

"Every Saturday after shul, Becca Proctor comes for lunch, but now escorted by one of her grandsons. I think he's back from serving overseas. They get here the same time every Saturday so my wife, Jillian, always makes sure the booth in the corner is clear for them. They order, they eat, they take some home, and do it all again next Saturday."

Steve gave a tremulous smile, thinking of Becca through the years visiting the same deli, the one they all grew up going to. 

"I'm going to be catching up with Becca while I'm in town," Steve said, "it's good to know she's still up and about."

"We all love her, here," Adam responded, "and she's in good hands. Her grandson dotes on her, practically worships the ground she walks on." After that, Adam departs to go back to the counter, leaving Steve to his meal. 

It's still some of the best food he's ever eaten in his life. 

As he worked his way through the sandwiches slowly, savouring every mouthful and breaking the flavours up with the occasional bite of dill, he reflected on Adam's words. Becca should be coming for lunch tomorrow after shul. If he can get his shit together about what to tell her about Bucky, he could maybe crash their lunch and--

It was that moment, Steve's thoughts derailed. 

With the lone sibling, the Barnes family tree after Bucky hadn't been hard to trace. Becca married and had three children of her own; Samuel, Rachel, and James, named for her lost brother. _They_ all married and had children as well. To his current knowledge, Steve knew Becca currently had five grandchildren, four girls and a boy. 

Problem was, the boy was the youngest, at ten years old. 

Logistically, there would be no way for the person escorting Becca, described was an adult and returned from overseas, to be her 'grandson'. 

So... who the hell _was_ it, then? 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve had, up to the moment they'd both walked in, held onto a hypothesis that maybe it was a relative he'd never heard of. However, presented with fact, there was no doubt in his mind the man that Adam had called Becca's grandson was indeed Bucky Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 2! Thank you for the sweet response to the first chapter. I am working on the next part now. I don't know whether it'll all be resolved in 3 or have to blow out to 4, but we'll soon see. 
> 
> Once again, Sarah is my rockstar. Thank you so much. 
> 
> And to everyone... This is the last day of the year (in Australia, at least). It's been fucking tough. Stay stafe. Look after yourselves, but also... look after each other, too. Do the right thing, because y'all know what the right thing is. 
> 
> Happy New Year, fandom <3 let's aim for a better 2021.

Steve stewed over the information as he finished his lunch and bid goodbye to Adam. All through the rest of his traipsing through Brooklyn, he couldn't stop thinking about this mystery person around Becca. 

Was Steve wrong, was it a relative from a different branch of the family he wasn't aware of? Or was it just a family friend, taking care of the elderly, widowed Becca?

He couldn't help his brain going to more sinister explanations; someone taking advantage of her, or even worse, a government or Hydra plant. If it were someone sinister, however, Steve took solace in that the person wasn't concealing their identity, nor taking steps to. Public meant witnesses who could identify them, that wasn't particularly stealthy. 

Steve traveled back to his Air BnB, resolved to check things out tomorrow. He could go over now, but figured it would be smarter for him to stake out the place he knew where they'd be, and at what time. Watch behaviour, and try and glean as much information before confrontation as possible. 

Natasha would be proud. 

Steve got to _Klionsky's_ on Saturday at ten-thirty. He didn't want to arrive so early as to arouse suspicion with his constant presence, nor did he want to miss the projected eleven-twenty arrival window. Adam's wife, Jillian, manned the counter this time. She didn't recognise him immediately like her husband, but Steve put that down to dressing more the part for covert activity.

He hadn't shaved since Wednesday, so a nice amount of scruff covered his jawline. The glasses and hat covered his face, but it was the ill-fitting jacket that was too big over his shoulders and waist that covered his bulk. He smiled politely at her as he placed his order. She was gracious, but the deli was busier than Friday, and so her attention was definitely spread thinner. 

Steve dived for the first available table when it cleared. It was situated in the one corner that was just slightly behind what he himself considered the most advantageous spot in the room. _That_ particular booth had a little hand-written 'reserved' sign on it. The last thing he wanted to do was slip in there and cause a commotion. 

Sure enough, come eleven-eighteen, Steve observed the silhouettes of two people shuffle past the front window. The bell rang when the door opened, and Steve watched Becca step up into the deli carefully.

He had to stamp down on every instinct to go and assist her, because apparently, her 'grandson' had it all under control. 

Because it was Bucky. _Bucky_ was her grandson. 

It was like all the air got sucked out of the room. Steve inhaled sharply, then looked down as Bucky scanned the room before turning back to his sister. Relief flooded through him knowing this mysterious relative of Becca's was actually her brother. Steve couldn't imagine a world where Bucky allowed any harm to come to his baby sister.

Bucky moved carefully from having her arm linked in with his -- his right arm -- to cupping her elbow and touching the small of her back as she made the precarious step over the wooden lip of the door frame.

It was what happened next that threw Steve's world into entire disarray. 

Becca looked up at him, fondness and love written all over her face. Bucky looked down at her, the exact same expression crinkling the crow's feet by his eyes in genuine warmth. 

He helped her walk to the booth in the corner, where he promptly plucked away the 'reserved' sign and helped her slide into the bench. Rather than sit opposite her, he slid right in beside her. 

Steve's mind was racing, his fingers shaking where they tried to grasp his glass of water for a fortifying sip. He forced his breathing into normal rhythms as he looked up whenever it was safe to do so, taking in as much information as possible. He needed to remain as inconspicuous as possible, not only did Bucky take up the best seat for observation of the entire of the deli, counter and door, but he also regularly scanned his surroundings. 

Bucky took the best position for observation of the entire deli, including patrons and out to the street. His position was as such that there was no way Steve or anyone else could approach Becca without Bucky knowing about it. 

Physically, he looked better, though Steve's last experience was when Bucky had been pummelling his lights out on a crashing helicarrier, so it wasn't much of a comparison to make. 

He seemed less like a half-starved jackal, however. There was definite healthy muscle and weight mass on his frame. Bucky looked clean and wore good clothes, if maybe in need of a haircut and a shave. His metal arm was covered by the long sleeves of the shirt he wore, as well as a lone, leather glove.

It was hard to make out his face from Steve's angle, and it only became apparent when he turned towards Becca. Good news was, he did that often. 

Bucky constantly looked at her, spoke quietly to her, made her laugh. _She_ made _him_ laugh on more than one occasion, the broad shoulders shaking silently, before they bumped into hers in a fond gesture. She then turned and patted his cheek gently, and Bucky's eyes grew warm under the touch, the frown line between his eyes softening. Steve could just see their hands clasped together on the table, Bucky's right in her left, her knuckles whitening at the force she used to hold on. 

Becca, for her part, looked _radiant_. With her silver hair neatly styled, she didn't look like a hostage or out of her wits. She looked like she was out having a wonderful lunch with a beloved family member. Brother? Grandson? Steve didn't know what to think. 

Steve had, up to the moment they'd both walked in, held onto a hypothesis that maybe it was a relative he'd never heard of. However, presented with fact, there was no doubt in his mind the man that Adam had called Becca's grandson was indeed Bucky Barnes. 

Steve watched their body language from beneath his cap brim curiously as Jillian approached to take their order. She greeted them both warmly, squeezing Becca's free hand when it was offered. 

For all the warmth that Bucky directed towards Becca, it became somewhat muted when he was forced to interact with someone else. He answered when spoken to, but didn't seem to be able to fully meet Jillian's gaze. Polite, but distant. Jillian was very kind to him, and while very physically affectionate with Becca, never made a move to touch or impose herself on Bucky. 

When Jillian moved away, the warmth returned to Bucky's face and demeanour, and he once again focused all his energy on her, all the while keeping a keen eye on their surroundings. Steve made sure to make his glances away look natural as Bucky scanned the room. 

Before their meal arrived, the siblings spent the time in quiet conversation with one another. While Steve could occasionally hear grabs of sentences from Becca, Bucky's words were a mystery. 

Once their meal arrived, that took focus, and they both seemed to genuinely enjoy their food. He watched Bucky crunch into a dill pickle and eyes flutter shut briefly, only for Becca to lean in and whisper something to him. The sight of Bucky interacting with his sister so tenderly made Steve's heart ache. 

They were probably in the deli for forty minutes before Jillian returned with a bag of takeout, which seemed to be the cue to leave. Bucky rose and helped Becca slide across the booth seat, offering his arm to steady her. Jillian gave her a hug goodbye, and a friendly nod towards Bucky while she placed the takeout bag deliberately on the table, not handing it over directly. Bucky picked up the bag in his left hand and nodded politely and said 'thank you' -- if a little stilted -- to Jillian, before refocusing on the task of escorting his sister.

Steve got up and ran to the door once they'd exited, following them with his eyes for as far as they stayed in range. They were headed in the direction of Becca's small apartment a few blocks away. Presumably, that was their destination. 

"Everything all right, sir?" someone asked, and Steve turned to find Adam. When Adam recognised Steve, the concerned expression lifted somewhat. "My wife told me there was a guy running through the deli," he said by way of explanation. 

"Sorry about that... I was just. Uh. Watching Becca and... and..."

"...her grandson?" Adam finished. "Forgive me for prying, but I thought you were going to talk to her today." 

"I was," Steve stumbled over his words. "I was. I'm afraid I didn't plan this very well at all." Steve gestured back to the table he'd been occupying. Adam followed and sat down. The movement bought Steve time to cobble together a reason for his strange behaviour. 

Steepling his fingers on the table, Steve attempted to corral his racing thoughts. "I'm not home for very long," he began slowly, "but I'd made vague plans to catch up with Becca while in town. Hadn't actually done anything about it, yet, but when we spoke yesterday, it seemed serendipitous that I'd know exactly where she'd be, and when."

Steve affected a charming smile. "I was going to surprise her and her grandson, whom I've not met" -- technically true. He _hasn't_ met Becca's grandson -- "only when I saw him, it didn't feel like the right thing to spring upon them both. He appeared a little..." 

"...Tense?" Adam finished with a chuckle. "You're not wrong. He seems a nice, young man, but very quiet. Doesn't talk to strangers. It's taken Jillian almost two months to get him to say 'thank you' and make eye contact with her." 

"Two months, huh? Has he been in the borough long?" 

"Near three months, as far as I can tell. At least, that's how long he's been coming to the deli with Becca. Every Saturday, and occasionally through the week, but always with her."

"That's nice," Steve said blithely, brain working overtime in the background. Three months would put him, at best, three weeks after the Potomac. "It must be lovely for her to have the company."

"You'd know that Becca isn't wanting for attention, she's a spritely thing," Adam joked to Steve's amusement, "but something has really changed for her since her grandson's been here. She never actually introduced him as that, but he can't be anyone else; he's the right age, and there's a definite family resemblance.

"Anyway, ever since he's been coming in with her, Becca has been glowing under the attention. He dotes on her, looks at her like he's a sunflower and she's the sun."

Steve felt a lump rise in his throat. 

"It's been really good for her, you know? Her kids have families of their own and have moved on a little bit, as is natural, and even confident old ducks like Becca get lonely."

"Of course," Steve murmured.

"But then he moved in with her. She says he had a very hard time in the war, and is with her to get back on his feet. From what we've seen, time together has been beneficial to the both of them."

"You could see he was in a rough way when he got here?" Steve asked. 

"Well, sure," Adam said, "he's also not the first vet I've had anything to do with. But he's getting better. Interacts better with Jillian than me, so she makes sure to be the one to look after them when they come in. And while he won't necessarily talk directly _to_ you, he might now allow you to hear parts of conversations that he has with Becca."

Steve slumped in his chair, doing his best to file away the information for processing. "I wonder what they talk about?" he said, more to himself than Adam.

"Mostly they share stories," Adam replied anyway. "Stories about when Becca was growing up in the thirties, about her parents and her brother. They take turns remembering and forgetting bits of each story, and then take turns correcting one another. She must've told him many stories about her childhood, he seems to know most of them by heart." 

Or he _also_ lived them, and corrects Becca's failing memory or she his damaged one.

"Is that all you can think of?" Steve asked finally. "I'm ah... embarrassed to say I don't even know his name." 

"Oh, it's Jamie," Adam said. 

Steve felt poleaxed. With his inability to ask any further questions, Adam wisely assumed the conversation was over. He nodded politely to Steve before excusing himself to get back to the kitchen. 

With trembling fingers, Steve pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial. 

Natasha answered presently. " _Rogers. Are you enjoying your weekend off?_ "

"I think it's going to have to be a little longer than that... I've found Bucky."

The silence on the end of the line was deafening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have any notes (SHOCK HORROR) for this save to say that Bucky and Becca being beautiful together are my absolute kryptonite. It makes me weeeaaaaaaakkk. 
> 
> If you enjoyed it, do not be under any allusions as to whether I'd like to hear from you or not. I would. The answer is yes. :D 
> 
> Either way, thank you for reading <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each minute of watching unlocked something in Steve's soul; it was obvious Bucky was trying very hard to integrate back into the world. He was damaged, but he was doing okay. He was showing signs of being on the way to becoming something close to the Bucky that Steve knew and loved again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi! See, it IS getting written. I'm proving this to myself, too. 
> 
> Thank you Sarah for being a fuckin legend and betaing this. I'm into ch 4. I feel like ch 4 might be the last one, but i'm still not going to list it as the last one until I'm sure. 
> 
> Y'all know that I'd love to hear your thoughts. This one was really fun to write.

Natasha didn't have to talk Steve down too much from running straight to Becca's house and bursting in; it was obvious she wasn't in immediate danger. In fact, startling Bucky like that was likely going to do more harm than good for all concerned. 

She suggested instead, that Steve work covertly and spend time surveilling them both. To pick up on patterns, habits, get more of a sense of Bucky's mindset both when in Becca's company, but also out of it, too. 

Sam promised he would get to New York as soon as he could, but it might not be for a few days. While the assistance was appreciated, however, Steve was secretly relieved that he would be left to his own devices. He didn't want to talk through his feelings, as much as he respected Sam; he just wanted to get as much information as possible, and process it on his own. 

When Steve got off the phone, he took the first of what would be many trips to Becca's brownstone. 

Becca and her husband, Thomas, had bought the two-storey brownstone in the mid-fifties, from what she'd previously told him. It was situated in a relatively Jewish neighbourhood, given the proximity to the shul, and that hadn't changed. Despite Thomas and Becca not being strictly Orthodox themselves, it always brought a sense of comfort to her to be able to walk down the same streets as the Hasidic families she saw every week. 

By the time Steve got there, Becca and Bucky had long since arrived home. The door was closed, and the windows had the curtains drawn back. Steve went to the bodega across the street to buy a bottle of water, taking as long as he could reasonably manage to drink it and look through the windows without making himself obvious. 

There was movement inside, and at one point the front curtains were shut by a shadowy figure, only to be deliberately opened again by Becca herself. She turned and seemed to be chewing out Bucky for closing them. He gave her an annoyed look and melted into the darkness of the house. 

Steve finished his bottle of water, and started meandering off, looking around like a tourist. He needed a plan of action. 

***  
  
The first thing Steve did was head back to his Air BnB residence to secure more time. He was prepared to bargain with them, but luck seemed to be on his side. Even after only a few days, Steve had proven to be an exemplary houseguest, and they were quite happy to room him for another few weeks -- the added income as well as the generous bonus he promised for their inconvenience didn't hurt at all. 

He suspected they might be hastily cancelling another booking, but Steve's needs selfishly won out in this instance. 

The next thing he needed to do, was get a new wardrobe. Steve had only come to Brooklyn with a few changes of clothes, and while he wasn't unused to doing his own washing, the same couple of sets of clothes would categorically be the _worst_ disguise for surveillance work. 

Steve went to three types of store to get three new wardrobes: a department store, a goodwill, and a tourist trap. They each offered a different range for him to be able to adjust his look, hopefully enough that to the regulars on Becca's street and surrounds didn't notice the same person all the time.

He stopped short at dressing similar to the Hasids that walked the streets. For one, he usually saw the men walk either with their families or in small groups of other men. For another, with such a tightly-knit Jewish community, a stranger would stick out like a sore thumb, more likely to be questioned, and he didn't think he'd be able to bluff his way out of it. The closest he was willing to go was a white dress shirt and black coat and trousers, which could help him blend in a little. 

Throughout the following week, Steve cycled through his looks -- often changing into different clothes over the course of the same day -- putting every skill he'd ever observed or Natasha had ever directly taught him, to the test. His disguises fell into three categories based on his wardrobe; native New Yorker, homeless, or tourist. Each offered various reasons to be in the neighbourhood and differing behaviours and movements. 

Steve was able to witness a number of instances of interaction with Becca and Bucky, both together and with the outside world. Each scrap of information went into building a much larger picture. 

Becca's street was mostly made up of brownstones, with small places of business sprinkled liberally between. Steve made a point to find reasons to visit these businesses. At any one he could conceivably spend copious amounts of time at without looking overtly suspicious, he would. Only a few had direct visual contact with the Proctor residence, but that's where Stark tech came in handy. 

He'd made a quick trip back to the Tower and procured Jarvis' help in borrowing some small surveillance devices, linking them to a laptop that he could carry around in a satchel, definitely fitting in as part of the 'native New Yorker' disguises he donned. Steve did his best to place them at various junctures along the street, to give him a decent view of Becca and Bucky's comings and goings. 

As was probably not a surprise, the eighty-six year old Becca didn't leave her house every day, though she made an appearance in her small front garden multiple times. 

Her front stoop had a small landing, before splitting into two sets of stairs on either side. One side had had a modified large wooden board affixed over the steps, acting as a ramp. It helped Becca shuffle down into her garden more easily, which made Steve wonder if Bucky'd had a hand in making it. 

It didn't seem like the craziest idea, seeing as a lot of the time Steve observed Bucky -- whether with his own eyes or through his equipment -- he saw Bucky help with obvious repairs and maintenance to the brownstone's facade. There was a battered old red toolbox he kept digging into that Steve distinctly remembered belonging to George Barnes. 

Bucky seemed focused and calm with the jobs to do, which made sense to Steve. Being the eldest male child growing up, responsibility often fell upon him to help his mother and father with upkeep of the family home. In the past, Bucky had always seemed more content when he got to work with his hands.On Steve's second day of surveillance, Bucky hauled a ladder up from the basement and disappeared for over an hour, reappearing with a couple of broken roof tiles he'd replaced. 

Becca tended to her front garden lovingly, though she chased Bucky away when he tried to help her too much; only conceding by letting him carry the fifty pound bags of potting mix up from the basement. They worked quietly, but took frequent breaks together. At one instance, Steve quickly ducked into a storefront when Bucky jogged across the street to buy a couple of bottles of cold soda and a packet of gum from the bodega Steve had just been haunting. 

When not in the garden, they both also liked to sit on the stoop and watch the world. Bucky always brought a wooden chair out of the house and placed it carefully on the landing, which Becca sat in, while he chose the top couple of steps. It was a time for more quiet conversation, or for Becca to say hello to the many residents and locals that walked the street during the day. Bucky didn't always look comfortable during those conversations, but he seemed to tolerate them for Becca's sake. 

Bucky left the brownstone on his own infrequently, and at those times, Steve followed him carefully. It was usually to accomplish a necessary task, like to go grocery shopping, or the hardware store to pick up maintenance supplies. At one point, he stopped in a little florist. 

Steve -- playing a tourist who was trying to navigate using Google maps, no less -- observed a less-stilted interaction between Bucky and the employee as she talked Bucky through various kinds of flower seeds. He ended up buying half a dozen packets and took them home to Becca, who held his face in her hands and kissed him. 

The Stark Tech surveillance cameras held up decently well. He lost a couple of cameras to damage and one went missing he discovered on a routine check of the equipment. Jarvis couldn't track what happened to them, only that they were no longer online. 

The footage wasn't suspicious, however, and Steve had been told that these models a prototype for a new kind of camera that was actually meant to naturally break down over time, to leave no evidence of its presence. There was still more-than-adequate coverage of the street, and that was Steve's primary concern. As long as he still had eyes on the Proctor house, on Bucky, _that_ was his priority. 

Each minute of watching unlocked something in Steve's soul; it was obvious Bucky was trying very hard to integrate back into the world. He was damaged, but he was doing okay. He was showing signs of being on the way to becoming something close to the Bucky that Steve knew and loved again. 

It was the little things that had the most impact on Steve; the seeds, when Bucky clearly remembered how much Winifred and Becca had loved flowers in their youth, but had no room for more than a few potted plants in the cramped Barnes tenement; Bucky bought the same brand of gum he had when he was fourteen; the way he lounged on the stoop in the same way Steve had seen countless times in his memory on an old Brooklyn fire escape. 

They were signs that Bucky was coming back. 

***  


And yet, even with the signs of the Bucky Steve had known in his childhood, there were equally as many nods to the man Bucky had become after going to war, and even shades of the Winter Soldier. 

On his fourth day of surveillance, Steve was once again at the bodega across the street, wearing a 'Five Boroughs of New York City' shirt and a Yankees cap when a pair of guys who definitely looked like they'd crawled out of a seedier district of the Bronx stopped in front of the Proctor brownstone. They cased the front of the place with sharp eyes and entered the gate, one kicking a little at the corner of the stairs leading up to the door. Talking amongst themselves, one scribbled down notes on a clipboard he was holding.

Steve leaned on a bench advertising a real estate agent and looked like he was playing with his phone, but really had eyes trained on Becca's front door. The two men stood on the landing, one reaching out to knock on the wood. 

Becca answered eventually, giving them a shrewd look. 

Their voices were just on the side of boisterous, enough that Steve's advanced hearing could pick up on the gist of their conversation quite easily. 

One told her they were from some kind of Brooklyn civic authority and that given the historical age of her place, the ramp modification went against code. The other explained that her stairs on the other side were becoming unsafe and needed to be fixed. To code, of course, or she might be fined. It would only set her back the heavily discounted price of two grand, and they could get it done before Winter.

Steve sneered. The claims were nonsense and obvious fabrications. He wanted to run over and scare the men, help Becca, make sure she wasn't taken advantage of. He deeply considered it, when Becca looked comically befuddled. "My Jamie made the ramp, and takes care of anything to do with the house," Steve heard her say. 

And as if he were a goddamn spectre, Bucky melted into existence just behind her. It was surprising to Steve from across the street, but startling enough to the men that they both took a reflexive step backwards. For his part, Bucky took a step forward, shoulders squared, face set in stone.

Becca asked the men sweetly to please repeat all of their concerns to Bucky, which they did so with far less confidence than their initial pitch to Becca. When Shyster Number One got to the part about city ordinances and fines, Bucky opened his mouth and corrected their quoting of the various statutes, _and_ corrected the brownstone's eligibility to those restrictions based on its age. 

That wasn't what shut them down, however. It was the fact that in the middle of Bucky's correction, he casually pulled a knife out of... _somewhere_... and idly used it to scratch his back, never breaking eye contact with them for a moment. 

It was enough for Shyster Number Two to kick the heel of his partner. They said their apologies quite quickly after that, citing that obviously Bucky was well-versed on the topic, unable to get off the landing fast enough. 

Becca keeps waving like the little old lady from the California Hillbilly show, while Bucky, knife suddenly gone once again, waves his hand in a parody of Becca's. 

As soon as they were out of sight, Becca smacked him none-too-gently in the centre of the chest. Bucky moved as though the slap hurt, though it couldn't have, and it was only then his expression changed to something registering amusement. 

Steve couldn't help choking out a laugh as he pushed up off the seat to leave. He's spent too much time in the one spot already. By the time he was walked the length of the bodega, Bucky and Becca were back inside. Door firmly shut, outside steps and ramp most definitely up to city code. 

***

  
There was a little bakery halfway down the block that did a truly delicious _knish_ , as well as decent drip coffee. Steve would go there and take up a little table. According to the owners he was an aspiring writer working on his breakout novel, which didn't make it seem unusual that he spent a few hours on his laptop, typing furiously. The owners definitely didn't mind as Steve would order menu items with regularity, and tipped generously. 

In actuality, Steve was in chats with either Natasha or Sam -- or both -- who had both been spliced into the feeds from the surveillance devices Steve had posted about the street. 

Sam thought the signs of Bucky trying to make his own way in the world were promising. Natasha was almost certain that Bucky suspected he was being followed, but there was no tacit proof that he knew. 

On his sixth surveillance day they were still debating whether there was any indication Bucky suspected anything when in-chat Sam directed their attention to the camera feeds. 

_SW: Heads up, the bird is leaving the nest._

Steve flicked to the camera feed to find Bucky on the move, and _fast_. He was already at the front gate and heading onto the sidewalk, moving North. It wasn't until Bucky bypassed camera four and seven that Steve realised that Bucky was likely going to walk right past him. 

He took great pains to keep his head down and type, scrutinising the feed intensely. 

The bottom dropped out of Steve's stomach when Bucky stopped right outside the bakery. He hesitated just a moment, before pushing the door open, bell tinkling at the top. 

Sweeping his gaze over the interior of the bakery -- including over Steve -- Bucky slowly made his way to the counter. The staff seemed to know who he was. Steve held his breath as he eavesdropped on the conversation. 

It wasn't terribly personal, from Bucky's end. The young girl at the counter asked Bucky how he was, to a reasonably unimaginative, short reply. That changed when she instead asked how Becca was doing, and whether her garden was thriving with the gradual drop in temperature. Bucky's voice became a little more animated, his words more emotional as he described how he'd just bought Becca seeds for plants that would flower and thrive in the colder weather, though he wasn't sure if they'd be grown in time for the frost. 

After that, he seemed much more comfortable to place a lunch order -- as well as a large order of the _knishes_ Steve had been enjoying -- to take away. The server also promised to put one of Becca's favourite pastries in with the order at no charge, which earnt her a tremulous smile and a nod of thanks. 

With Bucky's attention away from the counter, that's when Steve _really_ began to sweat. Bucky put his back to one of the walls as he leaned against it, crossing arms over his chest. He proceeded to study each and every person inside the bakery.

Steve snapped his gaze to the computer screen, fingers typing at breakneck speeds. 

_SGR: Bird's in the cage with me, looking suspiciously at everyone_

_SGR: Advise_

_SGR: Advise pls_

_NR: Don't panic, don't touch your face, you'll bring attention to it._

_NR: Breathing & isometric exercises, NOW_

Steve took the advice to heart, following it immediately. He steadied his breathing, counting in his exhales, holding, and counting out again. The isometric exercises -- squeezing and releasing his muscles -- were good, but the little movements seemed to draw Bucky's attention closer. 

_NR: You're meant to be a writer, so keep typing. If you stop it'll look strange. Type here or open up a document and keep going, like you're on a roll._

_NR: And don't look up. Your eyes are not to leave this screen._

Steve felt like he was Orpheus, charged with not looking at Euridice until they'd cleared the Underworld. Having Bucky right there and not being able to look directly at him was some special kind of torture. 

_SW: How are you doing, Steve?_

_SGR: He's right here in the room doing sweeps. Has clocked the exits and how many people are in here. Everytime the bell rings at the door his eyes go straight to it. He's looked at me a few times but I don't think he knows it's me_

_NR: Are you sure?_

_SGR: Can't be sure but it doesn't feel like he's spending anymore time looking at me than anyone else. i don't know what to do, nat._

_SW: Keep doing what you're doing._

_NR: I'm with Wilson. There's nothing you can do about it if he's made you already, but maybe the situational awareness and stress of being out and about has thrown him off a little_

_SGR: What do i do if he has made me?_

_NR: odds are, he's not going to want to have a chat in such a public place._

_NR: Also, there's nothing you can do._

Steve kept typing garbage stream of consciousness to Sam and Natasha barely daring to breathe until Bucky's order was ready to go, under the name 'Jamie'. Once he had the order in his hand, Bucky made one final sweep of the bakery before exiting. 

As soon as he's out of the building, the cameras immediately picked up Bucky's retreating form, following him all the way back to the brownstone. He didn't display any hesitation or sign that he was aware of the cameras following his every move. 

Once the door to Becca's home closed with Bucky inside, a sigh burst from Steve's lips like air from a punctured tire. His phone rang almost immediately. 

"That was way too fucking close, Nat," Steve said by way of greeting.

" _Agreed. Based on your observations -- coupled with my own, as well -- I think it might be time to make yourself known."_ She paused significantly. " _Got any ideas on how to do the big reveal?_ "

"As a matter of fact, I do." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some notes, nothing too dramatic. 
> 
> * I don't think Steve is shitty at covert surveillance. It wasn't his wheelhouse in the war, but he's been learning a lot, particularly from Nat. TWS made it obvious to me that in between the avengers movie and events of TWS (roughly 2 years by their timeline) he's been working with Nat enough that he's definitely gotten better at covert operations (as well as undertaking official training for it). Look at his taking of the Lumerian Star. That's not Smash and Grab WWII Steve. Also, he's meant to be a tactical mastermind. He can adapt and do this. 
> 
> * So I refer to the Orthodox Jews as 'Hasids' instead of 'Hasidic Jews' once here. My family has always referred to orthodox jews in such fashion. It's used equally as a descriptor as it is as a fond term for the orthodox. It occurred to me that not everyone might think it was a term used fondly. I did try and look up as to whether it was considered a slur or offensive, and I couldn't find anything. So... here's where we are. If you've found evidence to the contrary, please tell me. 
> 
> * I love the idea of steve cycling through these disguises. Like, he's going from quintessential new york hipster to slackjawed tourist over the course of a day. 
> 
> * My fave part to write was Bucky being an asshat to the crooked dudes at the door. All i could think about was that ET interview sebastian did where he pulled out the knife and started scratching his back with it. That was the direct inspiration for the scene. Imagine that, only his face being a lot less amused. 
> 
> * A knish /kəˈnɪʃ/ is a traditional Ashkenazi Jewish snack food consisting of a filling covered with dough that is typically baked, or sometimes deep fried. Ashkenazi Jewish immigrants who arrived sometime around 1900 brought knishes to North America. Knish (קניש) is a Yiddish word that was derived from the Ukrainian knysh (книш) and Polish knysz. The first knish bakery in America was founded in New York City in 1910. It's generally recognized as a food made popular in New York City by Jewish immigrants in the early 1900s
> 
> * I really liked Steve in chat with Sam and Nat while panicking about Bucky. Nat tells him to do calming and relaxation exercises so he doesn't give away his agitated and heightened state. 
> 
> * Nat is very suspicious that Bucky knows what's going on, but she can't quite see any evidence of the fact. Everything's just too clean, though. She knows that Steve is doing really well and he is a decent covert operative, but he's also being pitted against someone who was a *ghost story* within the intelligence community. 
> 
> That's all I have to say about that :) I'm working on ch 4 right now (as well as ftf). I hope it won't be too long before I'm finished that/the fic/everything else. 
> 
> Y'all know I would love to hear from you if you've got something to say. It's always so encouraging and motivating. Thanks everybody. Stay safe. And um.... don't storm the capitol? I didn't think I'd ever have to say that.... 
> 
> Love ya, stucky fandom <3

**Author's Note:**

> NOOOOTES:
> 
> * I seem to be addicted to not being Civil War compliant. Insert shrug here. 
> 
> * Family Ties was just the working title, but the more I pondered, the more I couldn't actually think of anything better. It is fitting, i guess, but I wasn't expecting it to be the end product. 
> 
> * Klionsky was my maternal grandmother's maiden name. So there ya go. The deli itself is made up, though the tag line of 'we make good food for nice people' was stolen off an actual Jewish deli, though I forget its name now. 
> 
> * shabbos is the yiddish way of saying shabbat. The Barnes family in this case would definitely be Ashkenazi jews (ie, jews hailing from Eastern Europe), and therefore, big yiddish speakers. 
> 
> * shabbos goy is what you'd call a non jew who is very helpful to jews over the shabbat. When you're orthodox, you're not meant to do any work over the sabbath, but there's obviously still things that need to get done. The jewish faith allows someone not jewish to help or carry out these tasks for you over this period of time. 
> 
> * it's my feeling that while the Klionsky family who own this deli were (in the 30s) likely orthodox, Bucky's family didn't keep to the letter of the law. So while they might not've needed a shabbos goy in the literal sense, Steve was seen as that in the eyes of the deli owners. Plus... knowing Steve, it'd totally be something he'd do. 
> 
> * I guess it goes without saying that the character of Adam's surname is Klionsky. 
> 
> * bubbe and zayde are yiddish for grandmother and grandfather. 
> 
> * fun fact, when my brother and i were little, my mum tried so hard for us to call her dad 'zayde', but we just didn't like how it sounded. She called him 'papa', because... well, he was her father, and we liked that a lot better. So we ended up calling them bobe (the way we pronounced 'bubbe') and papa. :D 
> 
> * shul is yiddish for synagogue, derived from the german for 'school'. 
> 
> * I am Jewish (by now I think that's a little obvious), but I'm a progressive jew from Australia. If I've missed intricacies to do with pre-war Judaism in new york, I do apologise. If you've picked up on a mistake I've made, drop it in the comments. 
> 
> Chapter 2 will definitely be out before new years. Feedback is fantastic. I think you're all awesome.  
> Thank you for reading!


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